


D.H Lawrence and Cognac

by hispano



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Missing Scenes, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23492356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hispano/pseuds/hispano
Summary: A missing set of scenes from Blood and Money
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 114





	D.H Lawrence and Cognac

**Author's Note:**

> My head cannon is that Jack and Phryne had a date the night before Paddy turns up and that Francois is Jack. Dot's amused smile as she comes down the stairs that morning as Phryne stumbles in suggests she knows about the date. Hugh's slightly teasing "that's a beautiful dress, Miss!" and Phryne's nervous reaction could be seen as Hugh also having insider knowledge. So just for fun, I've written some missing scenes from the episode.

**D.H Lawrence and Cognac**

She was quite sure that she had never held something so decadent and expensive in her hands. A headpiece entwined of silver foil leaves and thread. 

It was for one night. Her Miss Phryne had this especially made, and it seemed to resemble one she had worn when they went to see that Gilbert and Sullivan musical a few moons ago, although this one was bolder, brighter.

She lowered it over Phryne's head, pinning it gently to her hair. Eyeing her mistress in the mirror, she watched as Phryne fiddled with the beads on her dress. Her mistress was nervous and she had never seen such a sight.

"Penny for your thoughts, Miss."

She watched as Phryne breathed out slowly, quietly, as if she hoped no one would notice.

"We're going to the Green Mill."

Dot nodded, doing her best not to break into a smile and a giggle. It was all rather exciting. Finally, her Mistress and the Inspector were courting or trying. She wasn't quite sure what the terminology was with these two. 

"He said he wanted to take me dancing, but I'm quite sure he didn't anticipate Floretta Jones and her Syncopated Rhythm Section being on the bill."

Dot cleared her throat. She didn't have to ask to know that "syncopated rhythm section" meant something quite different to brass instruments.

She busied herself with adjusting Miss Fisher's dress which was deep, royal blue, the material scattered with sequins, the straps thin as spaghetti. There was skin everywhere, decolletage, arms, neck, it was all rather scandalous but she had come to understand that a woman's choice of attire was her own and only her own and rather a delightful decision. Although she would be keeping that surmise to herself, well away from Father Grogan, her mother and Hugh's mother.

"I can't stop thinking about him."

Dot nodded slowly, deciding to focus on packing up the odds and ends on Phryne's dresser. Bobby pins, make up brushes, powder, pins; it was Hugh's boss after all her Mistress was referring to and someone she worked with herself. She wasn't quite sure whether she wanted to know.

"Don't you think about Hugh that way?"

While she had often discussed such things with Phryne, the two of them rather loose with formalities- she didn't quite want to know the inner workings of her Mistress's mind about the Inspector.

"I'm sure it will be a beautiful night, Miss."

Phryne stood up, smiling at Dot in the mirror, and reaching for a lipstick, unscrewed the gold lid, placing it on her lips, and began to outline the pink flesh in deep, crimson red.

As a child, despite the declarations of the Church, Dot's mother would buy one fashion magazine a year on her birthday, and once she was finished, let her girls read over the pages. Dot and her sisters would pour over the pictures of women dressed in furs, corsets tight as can be and hair pinned in soft curls to the head, tendrils brushing against cheeks of blushed pink. They were beautiful, and as a child, she admired them. Her mistress with her fine cupids bow of red and her dress of deep blue could have stepped out of the pages of the magazines of now, such was her beauty. She often tried to emulate such things, she wasn't sure if she managed.

Phryne adjusted her dress in the mirror once more and smiled at her, flashing her a wink.

"Don't wait up."

Dot smiled and nodded bashfully, feeling her cheeks grow red. 

Phryne left the room, the air a flurry of french perfume.

Dot stared into the mirror, and reaching up, traced her finger over her lips. She let her hands trail over the make up on Phryne's dressing table before resting on a lipstick, looking quickly behind her, knowing deep down that Phryne wouldn't mind, and had let her borrow them before, pulled off the lid, unwinding the red lipstick and brought it to her lips.

  
He peered over the counter, wincing as the buckle of his belt pressed into his stomach. His boss was not his usual self. The Inspector was pacing in his office, his shoes sounding out a rather frantic and annoying rhythm on the floorboards. There were no cases so it was not a pace of deep thought but nervous energy.

"Collins!"

Hugh jumped, the pencil he was holding clattering to the desk and he straightened his blazer, making his way to the office door.

"Yes, Sir?"

"That robbery on Hasting Street."

Hugh nodded slowly, clearing his throat. "The lad who stole the underwear off Madame Gertrude's washing line?"

He immediately regretted his tone which was one of sarcastic amusement, for his boss glared at him with unamused annoyance.

"Madame Gertrude is a member of the society we protect, just like any other and just - just because she conducts a business where-"

"Of course, Sir. I didn't mean to dismiss her report."

His boss was definitely not himself. They were all aware Madame Gertrude ran a house for Ladies of the Night. The whole station did, the entire city of Melbourne did, yet no one felt the need to explain.

He breathed out slowly, thinking about which angle he should aim for here to remove himself from any inevitable trouble. His eyes fell on his bosses tie which was different to the one he had been wearing all day.

"That's a nice tie, Sir."

Jack looked down, his hands falling to his hips. "Ah yes, I have an engagement this evening."

Hugh nodded slowly. His Dottie had mentioned something in passing. He had no real evidence, and Dottie was rather guarded but he assumed, or at least hoped, that with his Dottie knowing, and his boss being different tonight, meant the two were connected. He couldn't ask his boss about it, so instead he decided to ease the tension.

"Ah. The robbery, Sir?"

"I'd like a full report of it by the end of your shift."

Hugh nodded in understanding, deciding not to point out that he had already been directed to do this by the Inspector an hour ago, and without saying another word, turned and walked back to the station desk. He reached for the already typed report, shuffling the pages in order.

The click of heels on floorboards caught his attention, and he looked up, doing his best to act professional. He was quite terrified of Phryne Fisher, it was a secret he hoped no one knew.

"Hugh."

He smiled, swallowing deeply and did his best to seem composed. She was dressed in the most beautiful of dresses, it was sparkling under the station lights, her shoulders bare.

"Miss Fisher."

She went to answer but stopped and he followed her gaze. His boss had stepped out of his office, the door clicking shut behind him.

"Jack."

Hugh watched as his boss broke into a smile, and it was a smile he hadn't seen before, not during work. He averted his eyes, staring down at the desk, shuffling papers that did not need shuffling. He felt as if he was intruding.

"Miss Fisher."

Hugh looked up and saw Phryne step towards the Inspector, her hands brushing over the lapels of his bosses' blazer.

"You look very handsome, Jack. I will have to keep an eye on you tonight."

He watched as his boss cleared his throat, smiling, his head tilting to the side as if to silently remind her that they were not alone.

Hugh coughed. He had no idea where it came from, but it was loud and completely jarring to the atmosphere. He felt his cheeks grow red.

Phryne was suddenly before him, leaning over the station desk, her french perfume hitting his nostrils in full force. She dropped her voice to a whisper.

"Make sure you use this time to put the charms on Dot."

Hugh looked at her in confusion. "Miss? But Dot and I are already charmed and-"

He straightened his back as Miss Fisher rolled his eyes at him. 

"Oh, dear Hugh. The bosses are away. Mother and Father have departed. Break the rules. Charm her over the telephone on a whim. Surprise her."

She winked at him. Actually winked. And he was quite sure that if his mother was here right now, she'd be horrified but his mother wasn't here and instead he nodded. He didn't smile, not wanting to push the moment too far.

"I expect that report on my desk by the morning Collins."

"Oh ho hum Jack. You need a drink, and I need a dance and a kiss. Help me find a French man, preferably named Francois."

Hugh stared at her in surprise, quite expecting his boss to be angry, but instead, he laughed. Inspector Robinson, laughed. And without saying a word, held out his arm for Miss Fisher to take, the two of them leaving the station, a trail of french perfume in their wake.

Hugh shuffled the papers on his desk one more time

The music was so loud, the air thick with smoke, it smelt of alcohol, perfume and cologne. His senses were overloaded, his head felt full but it was not due to any of those things, instead it was due to the woman pressed tight against him, her hips swaying against his to the music.

She leaned in closer, her lips at his ear.

"Kiss me."

He pulled back, and stared into her face. She was utterly beautiful, that was clear. Every man had stared at her on arrival, every woman admiring her energy but that spark she had, the flash of wit was something only he saw. 

He let his hand fall from her hip, slowly trailing up her body, his thumb daring to brush past her breast as it lifted higher, sliding over her shoulder before resting at the base of her head. He brought her in slowly, his lips crushing against hers and he felt himself burst; her taste against his, the press of her body, the sudden clutch of her hand against his chest. It was all encompassing.

Their tongues encircled, entwined and parted before finding the other again. They pulled apart, a deep intake of air for both of them. She rested her forehead against his cheek and spoke, hoping he would hear her over the music that was crushing against her ears.

"I want you in a quiet space. Just us."

He felt his stomach pool in warmth but also anxiety. He didn't want this night to end but he didn't want to go there tonight, it felt like a final step. A consummation of a tango that would be its finale, such was the build up. He wasn't sure where her heart was. If he was to do this, he wanted her heart, or at least an assurance that his would not be broken in the process of loving her.

"Seeing as you've always hosted the night caps, Miss Fisher. How about a night cap at mine?"

She smiled against him. "I like the sound of that."

She breathed in, letting her fingers trail over the books on the shelf. They were all leather bound, expensive, some being quite old and from the titles, quite rare. She would rattle his brain at another time.

She turned, taking in the room around her. The bookshelf was behind her, at the rear of the room and in between its vast shelves was a fireplace, much like her own yet without the mantle, aligning its architecture with the cottage surroundings. It was a beautiful room, its deep red painted walls making the brown leather armchairs feel so welcoming she decided to fall into one, tossing her shoes off as she did so.

"I see you've made yourself comfortable."

She lifted her legs and turned in the chair, letting them flop over the arm.

"Now I have, Inspector."

He tried not to laugh, and he managed but his mouth broke into a soft smile as he lowered the glasses of whiskey in his hands to the table. She was rather adorable at times.

  
He sat in the chair opposite, feeling its familiar warmth and shape embrace him fondly. He eyed her over the room and knew that his eyes were pooling with desire. He felt his body do much the same.

She suddenly stood up from the chair, reaching for her whiskey glass as she did so and walked over to him, or stalked was perhaps the better description, her movements much like a cat about to devour its prey.

She stood before him, nudging his legs apart gently, and stepped between them. His hands involuntarily found her hips, and he felt his palms press into the beads of her dress. He gazed up at her, drinking her in. 

"Phryne."

She took a sip of her whiskey and felt the warm amber sink down her throat before lowering the glass to the table beside the chair and then turned her attention back to him. Her hands fell on his cheeks.

"I like it when you touch me."

She watched him swallow deeply at her words, his eyes growing dark.

In this moment, all he could think about was kneeling before her, lifting her dress and devouring her; his tongue melting into her body, her taste like whiskey on his tongue, her scent intoxicating. He wanted her to break apart and reform around him, he wanted to do that to her, and yet, the time between them, the air and space was so rich with a knowing that it was not to be for now.

"You don't have to say anything."

He shook his head, closing his eyes and working out how best to say how much he wanted her but at the right time so it would last, without questions or foolish misgivings.

"You-You're-"

She stopped him from finishing, her lips pressing against his and then her tongue and all was lost. He let his senses overflow.

She pulled away and he immediately longed for her return, to have her barest of flesh against his.

She spoke and her voice was uncharacteristically small and hesitant, as if she was insecure of his answer. It shocked him.

"I would like to stay." She felt foolish as the words left her lips. It sounded almost like a plead, a desperate want just to be in his company. It was new to her but she trusted Jack with it, she knew the raw emotion wouldn't be mishandled. 

There was a silence, and she scrambled for words to fill in the space. 

" We could read?"

He stared up at her, and realising his place in this chair with her standing before him seemed rather foolish now the moment had passed, began to rise, his hands not leaving her hips.

"Read, Miss Fisher?"

He bit his lip in amusement, it was a rather tame and sweet suggestion after the currents of energy that had been pulsing in the room two minutes before.

"D. H Lawrence. He-has a way with words for moments such as this. I saw it on your shelf. We could read here with some whiskey or cognac. Or in your bed..."

He tilted his head as her hands found the buttons of his waistcoat, her fingers tracing the outlines of his buttons. 

He had imagined her in his bed in so many ways, reading in bed was one of his greatest joys. He had certainly hoped for this, but it was in his deepest and most secret of fantasies, when the sensual pleasures of the bedroom had already been explored and there was space for intimacy of another kind. Simple intimacy. The intimacy that meant love, trust, affection and company. He wasn't expecting it to happen first.

He let his hands fall from her hips and clutched at her hand, pulling on it gently, titling his head to indicate her glass which she picked up hastily, his own in his free hand, and he pulled her towards the bookshelf. He watched as her eyes followed his fingers move across the spines of the books, until they fell on the book in question. He pulled it from the shelf, and then they made their way to his bedroom.

They walked down the hallway, his stomach doing flips at the reality of the moment and they turned into his bedroom, their hands parting as they made way for the bed, their glasses finding the bedside tables, the book finding it soon after.

"I'm in Inspector Robinson's boudoir, oh the scandal!"

He rolled his eyes, shrugging off his blazer. "Alright, Phryne."

He watched her take in the room, her hand holding the headboard of the bed. 

"It's lovely, Jack."

He smiled and nodded and wondered about how best to proceed. He decided it was his room and to do what felt comfortable. He lay down on the bed, kicking off his shoes. His blazer was off, but his waistcoat, shirt and pants remained and he was relaxed like that. He was quite sure if he took off one more item of clothing, he could not bear just reading a book.

She also lay down on the bed, with quite a jump, the bed moving up and down briefly from it. Her bare stocking feet, her shoes discarded long before in the sitting room crossed over at the ankle. They lay like that, two straight bodies beside each other until she shuffled closer and without a word, rested her head against his chest.  
The feeling it stirred, the relaxation and content, the desire and want was almost too much. Her hand found its way over his stomach until it rested on top, her leg lifting until it entwined with his. The only sounds was their breathing and the rustle of sequins against his suit.

"Mr Lawrence is waiting, Jack."

He smiled in amusement, staring up at the ceiling as the moment which perhaps begged for sensual bareness and aching want, was replaced with a sense of a new familiar.  
He reached for the book which he had placed on the nightstand and opened it, beginning to read. He realised they had quite forgotten their realities in the moments of happiness.

"What about tomorrow and -"

He stopped speaking as her finger pressed against his lips and he peered down, her head still resting on his chest as she spoke.

"I'll get a cab home in the morning, or you can drop me. If Dot asks I'll say I was out dancing all night with a rather lovely French man named Francois."

She decided Jack didn't have to know that Dot already knew she was with him tonight. 

He nodded, clearing his throat. "Does Francois know about me?"

She settled against him, her hands clutching his hips. "He's very jealous. I told him you're quite a catch. Very handsome and very bi-"

"Back to the story at hand, Miss Fisher."

She giggled and he was quite sure he had never heard anything so warm.


End file.
